


What It Truly Means

by LolaDiBlack



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Epiphany, Inspired by Art, M/M, Rain, Tears, The Author is Sleep Deprived, angsty, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-04
Updated: 2012-09-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 13:23:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/503975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaDiBlack/pseuds/LolaDiBlack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isaac burst through the door, full of tears.<br/>Stiles left the house, out of breath.<br/>Derek is alone, out of time.</p><p>"Under the heavy rain, with not even the Moon for company, with a heart full of regret was Derek Hale going to die."</p><p>And words...</p>
            </blockquote>





	What It Truly Means

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this piece of fan art (http://petite-madame.deviantart.com/art/Party-s-over-Wolfy-323547082)
> 
> Enjoy!

He didn’t care that the heavy rain was soaking him to the bones or falling into his eyes, that his lungs were burning by the exertion, it didn’t matter,  _nothing_  mattered because he had to get there.

Get to  _him._

_*~*_

_  
_Isaac had burst through the door, screaming and whining, even without that the expression of utter desperation would’ve given him away. An instant later, Stiles was completely alert, going to the distressed teen, who, as he neared could see, had tears in his golden eyes.

 

“I…Isaac?”

 

“He…he” Isaac tried to say between hiccups before a sob tore from deep within, destroying Stiles’ fake control on the panic overtaking him.

 

His hands took a hold without permission of the taller teen’s biceps and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. A deep breath and he whispered, “Where is Derek, Isaac?”

 

The wolf in his living room just sobbed harder, body shaking uncontrollably as if he couldn’t help it, Stiles then realized,  _he_  was shaking Isaac. _**He**  was shaking Isaac!_

 

“Isaac! Tell me where the  _hell_  is Derek?”

 

“Ordered us…to go away…to  _run!_ ” Isaac shuddered and whimpered. “Can’t…can’t disobey the Alpha…”

 

Panic, he had to keep the panic at bay…after, Stiles promised himself. _‘After this happens, after he is safe, then, then…’_

 

“He didn’t run…Stiles, he didn’t run!” 

 

Stiles’ heart was been held in a vicious fist, he could feel his airways closing, making it hard to breathe, to think, and he couldn’t because he needed, just like his air, he  _needed_  to think. Derek, had sent everyone running and he hadn’t follow, he had stayed…he…

 

“Isaac, where? You have to tell me where he is.” But no answer was forthcoming and he was running out of time. “For fuck’s sake! Get a hold of yourself and tell me Where. Is. Derek!?”

 

The voice he recognized, the tone, though? He’d never heard it before and neither have Isaac, who was looking at him as if it was the first time. The blonde hunched his shoulders, tucking his chin against his chest before responding, voice meek and utterly terrified. “He led them to the woods.”

 

Stiles’ keys were already in his hand, foregoing shoes or anything else he made it to his Jeep, shouting as afterthought. “Dry yourself and wait for  _us_ in my room.”

 

Going over the speed limit under heavy rain was something a Sheriff’s son should never do, at the moment though, personal safety was not a priority in Stiles’ book, nothing was but  _DerekDerekDerek…_

Yes, the man was an asshole and refused to listen, had tremendous trust issues, his moral compass needed some tweaking and some of his life choice’s left something to be desired, just to list a few…yet…

 

The mere thought of something, some _one_ , an outsider coming into  **their** turf, trying to take the pack away and Derek; stupid flawed perfect strong lost guilt-ridden angry  _beautiful_ Derek playing the goddamn sacrificial lamb, so his pack gets to be spared.

 

“Goddamn it! You fucking idiot! Fucking swear if you die, I will find a way to revive you, just to kill you with my bare hands!” His grip on the steering wheel past the line of painful, he just kept talking. “I will Derek, I will because you can’t, fuck! You just can’t keep doing this, Oh my god! You asshole! You sent them away, you…you made Isaac  _cry!_ ”

 

Just like that, so was he. The feeling of uselessness making his blood run cold, because what he got there too late? Or what if he got killed before getting to Derek? What would he do? What  _can_ he do? The old coot had made it clear, he can play hero all he wants, but at the end of the day, Stiles’ was nothing but measly human  _playing_ hero. Nothing but a fragile hindrance trying to run with wolves.

 

“Not the time, bro, so not the time.”  A sigh escaped through his parted lips as he skidded to a halt in front of the Hale Ruins, killed the engine and stepped out into the freezing rain; toes curling in the mud, taking impulse and darting forward without any hesitation. 

 

The headlights of his faithful heap of metal became his only source of light as his feet pounded on the wet dirt and water hit his skin while **praying** begging _pleading_  he wasn’t too late, that Derek’d handled the situation, that Derek was alive, alive and angry just as Sourwolfy as the last time Stiles’d seen him, because  _pleasepleaseplease_ … Then.

 

Stiles stumbled, fell on his hands and knees, biting his lips to keep from crying, from screaming Derek’s name, from cursing Derek and his valiant act, from spewing in pure panic that a new constant in his life could be gone if he didn’t get up and hurry!

 

On his feet again, heart on his throat, breath ragged and he was soaked to marrow of his bones, but he needed to find Derek, even if…

 

If to die besides him. 

 

The finality of that thought should have left him, breathless and frozen and panicked. Should have make him want to turn back around and head home, because:

 

HOLY SHIT! He didn’t mind going down with Derek Hale!

 

Epiphany aside, he kept moving, swiping carelessly at his face, thinking how the lights from his Jeep were fading and soon he’ll be lost, and with the lack of light or werewolf eyesight looking for Derek was going sideways fast.

 

Then he heard the cocking of a gun.

 

*~*

Derek was tired, running around the woods in the rain with a healing bullet hole in his thigh hadn’t help any. But his pack was safe, he’d made sure of it, had roared at Isaac to leave, to run to safety, had pushed at his will and pull at the instincts that tether them together and made the boy obey.

 

When Isaac, the last to run, did leave, he took a leap in the opposite direction, leading them, two hunters away from his pack, his family, the one driving; a blonde like Jackson, took a shot at his leg, making him stumble but not stop, never stop. Because if Derek Hale was going to die, he was going to do it on  _his_  terms, not anybody else’s!

 

Nobody but his pack, his misfit toys and maybe Peter will find him, dead and gone but they will be alive and safe, alive _and_ safe **pack** _protect_ , the hunters will be gone if the Alpha’s dead, they’ll forget about the rest, hell he’ll make damn sure before he bites that silver wolfbane laced bullet.

 

The tallest of them, Sam, got knocked out a couple of minutes back, he’d reminded Derek of Scott: Big expressive puppy eyes and floppy hair maybe once he’d had a softer expression or maybe not. But it served Derek to remember the boy his Uncle had turned his life upside down and ended up in Derek’s fold even if for a while. He won’t get to say thanks and goodbye…It’s bittersweet.

 

He also won’t get to see Allison or Lydia; he doesn’t really feel too bad about that…but Stiles.

 

It lands with a punch from the blonde, he just keeps on snarking…like Stiles and that twists like a knife in Derek’s gut, because there won’t be more insults or bad dog jokes, or “Can’t you just use the door? You Creepy Lurker!”, there won’t be more bright brown eyes looking at him, luring him, chastising him,  _seeing_  him. 

 

He lands a punch of his own, his eyes flashing  **red** _hazel_ **red** , claws popping in and out, and FUCKING CHRIST! His lip is bleeding now but so is Dean’s face, blood is rushing to his ears as his basest of instinct fights with his logic.

 

FightfightfightKill

versus

FightfightfightDie

 

He won’t get to say goodbye to Stiles, that physically hurts…and maybe…

 

Maybe is better this way.

 

His heart is pounding in his ribcage, the echo thrumming throughout his limbs, Derek closes his eyes when he hears the gun being drawn.

 

“Party’s over, Wolfy!” The gruff voice sentences with a duality in his tone, that Derek won’t examine at all.

 

He is panting so is the hunter in front of him…  _‘Here’s to the end.’_

 

Under the heavy rain, with not even the Moon for company, with a heart full of regret was Derek Hale going to die.

 

The hunter cocks the gun, Derek looks him dead in the eye. (HA!) 

 

And then…

 

A second later…

 

(A shot rang out)

 

There’s a body colliding with his, twisting him away from the gun and the hunter and onto the muddy ground, arms and legs and hands latching to him and Derek.

 

Knows.

Those.

Hands.

 

He  _knows_ that grip, and the irregular panicky breathing, his eyes widen for a moment and he turns again, his back to the enemy, again.

 

Because,

Because…

_Stiles!_

 

Stiles, annoying motormouth with no fucking sense of self-preservation, apparently has come to his rescue, Fuck! 

The idiot tried to shield him,  _him_ , an Alpha werewolf from a  **bullet**!

 

“Are you  _crazy_!?” He snarls and the gun is cocked again, Derek knows his fangs are out and his eyes bright crimson.

 

“Are  _you_ crazy!?” Derek is countered with, Stiles’ eyes are bright and panicked, his heart is jackrabbiting in his chest and he has a fucking hunter at his back!

 

“What the hell?!” Trains his gun on Stiles but Derek keeps shielding the human boy with his battered body, making the hunter suspicious.

 

“Who the hell are you, kid?!”

 

“How dare you? How  _dare_  you?! You selfish  _asshole_!” Stiles is screaming almost hysterical between gulps of breath, clutching to Derek like a limpet; shaking and pale.

 

“Get out of here, Stiles! Go. Home!” He orders between gritted teeth.

 

“Wha…? No, fuck you, Derek! I’m not leaving!”

 

“Stiles!” A shout, a plea, a prayer, an order, a curse, a blessing.

 

Then he goes down.  _‘Here’s to the end. Goodbye Stiles.’_

*~*

Dean is, well, shocked. 

 

The least he’d expected was well, this.

 

A lanky pale mass of skin and bones, throwing himself with reckless abandon in the arms of a monster…

 

A monster who had fought him as an equal, sorta.

 

A monster who, had turned at the last moment to protect the panicking…human beneath him.

 

“Derek? Derek, come on!” The boy tried to pry the heavier body away from his, with little to no success it seems. “Derek! Fuck! You asshole, I’m  _not_ a werewolf; you can’t order me around, or play potato while on top of me, you hear me Derek?”

 

Here’s the trick though, the boy wasn’t really prying the werewolf off him as much as he was holding on to him with a tightness that should leave bruises.

 

“Derek, Derek? Wake up! Derek, Wake up!” The boy wiggled until somehow, he untangled himself from the unconscious monster. ”Derek! You don’t get to do this, Derek Hale! You don’t get to die on me after all the shit we’ve gone through, you…you…you don’t get to leave, damn it wake up!”

 

Holy Shit on a Stick!

 

The boy had his back to Dean, to the gun, to the ‘good’ guy and sobbing on the chest of a beast, a monster, who’d had taken  _another_ poisoned bullet.

 

“Please, Derek please, wake up! I…I…I can’t, ok? I can’t…because I’m just human, just Stiles and I’m not…I, fuck! Don’t just…not now.”

 

“Kid.” Dean tried to reach but his hand got slapped away.

 

“Get away from me!”

 

“Dean?” Sam’s confused voice roused above the rain. “Wha…?”

 

“You OK, Sammy?” He shouted back at his approaching brother, still mindful of the boy kneeling atop of the wolf.

 

“Who is…”

 

“Oh God! Oh my fucking Christ!” His eyes were fleeting from Sam to Dean and back to Sam while his trembling hands remained on the unmoving body underneath him. A jumble of words later and a shout wrapped in a sob came from the boy.

 

“Dean! DEAN! You shot a  _human_ with wolfsbane?!” Uh, so he  _had_ shot the kid after all.

 

“I…he came out of nowhere!”

 

“No!” The shout/snarl had them both jumping back. “You, you came outta nowhere, shooting people like this is still the fucking wild wild west! Guess what, asshole!? It’s not and What the actual fuck? Aren’t you supposed to stick to a Code!?”

 

“Listen kid…” 

 

“No! You listen…” The kid’s Bambi eyes widen and the hands curved like claws, tightening as he sagged. “Yes! Oh please…”

 

“You need a hos…”

 

“You need to shut the fuck up! And leave Beacon Hills, this pack,  _our_  pack, has never spilled innocent blood, the man you  _shot_ had more reason than anyone to kill like a mindless beast yet he has never done it, unlike  _you!_ ” The words hurt like physical contact, the painful kind. “Now, Get the hell outta my face, before I decide to scream bloody murder until my father shows up!”

 

“Your father?” 

 

“That would be the Sheriff, Mr. Winchester” Someone said coming from his side, Sam and Dean had their guns at ready, while the middle age man kept walking towards them with a subdued pace. 

 

“Dr. Deaton, please, please, you’ve got to…he, I…please?” 

 

“Stiles, you’ve got to breathe. I’ll take care of this, alright?”

 

Bambi Eyes--Stiles nodded frantically while trying to take deep breaths, still on top of the unconscious male. 

 

“And what the hell are you?”

 

“I’m just a vet.” 

 

*~*

Okay. It was okay.

 

He could…okay.

 

Unknowingly, Stiles leaned forward with each breath, holding like a drowning man to the sliver of hope, because, Derek was still alive and so was he and Dr. “I’m just a vet” Deaton was here. Besides despite the rain, Derek Hale was one warm MoFo and was totally borrowing that warmth.

 

Stiles curled his front to Derek’s side, a hand on intertwined with one of Derek’s the other holding a stubbly cheek as he took deep breaths.

 

“You have me, Sourwolf.” He murmured.

 

“I’ll rip your throat out.” Derek grunted faintly.

 

“With your teeth?” Stiles wondered with a drunken smile; all languid and lazy.

 

“With my teeth.”

 

He slipped into oblivion, reassured.

****

**_The End._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Leave your thoughts....
> 
> Love!


End file.
